


like a queen, baby, not a pawn

by spookysp_ace (summermoonsdawn)



Series: kurodai mid-birthday week 2019 - (fuck yeah kurodai) [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: KuroDai Week 2019, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Violence, Secret Relationship, as well as violence and mostly skimmed over, day 5: secretly dating, even when they didn't realize it, lyrics from "bang" by ryan caraveo, mentions of blood are minor, no one dies and everyone is okay i promise, police officer daichi, the violence is NOT graphic, they love each other a lot, yakuza boss kuroo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21845428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summermoonsdawn/pseuds/spookysp_ace
Summary: kurodai mdbday week, day 5 | secretly datingMany years ago, Kuroo made a decision to save Sawamura Daichi from near death. Since then their relationship had grown exponentially, more than the "we're rivals who refuse to kill each other."Sooner or later someone was going to find out.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Sawamura Daichi
Series: kurodai mid-birthday week 2019 - (fuck yeah kurodai) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567954
Comments: 9
Kudos: 96





	like a queen, baby, not a pawn

**Author's Note:**

> hey fam!! 
> 
> i had just a sliver of this floating in my drafts since last summer. it is thinly based off that tumblr post that was like "the chief of police is married to a mob boss, and they have to keep 'just failing' to catch each other." i'll link it at the bottom. 
> 
> i'd honestly planned on make this one more light hearted, and definitely more comedic, but it kind of went its own way. if i make this into a series or something the other pieces will *hopefully* be more like that because goddamn it takes me ages to write angst (cough cough, my 'sunrise, sunset' piece).
> 
> // WARNING // there are minor mentions of blood, as well as the mention of violence and past violence but it is not gruesome or vivid. If you would like a clearer warning, please feel free to ask before reading.
> 
> i do not typically write about violence/injuries, so i apologize for any inaccuracies. 
> 
> please enjoy!

kurodai mid-birthday week, day 5:

**secretly dating | ~~medieval au~~ | ~~royalty au~~ **

* * *

_When it comes down to it_

_If I put it in your hand, could you pull it?_

_Could you make it go bang, bang?_

  
  


Many years ago, Kuroo had walked into his favorite bar–rightfully named the Trash Heap–one evening, seeing the broad shoulders of a familiar officer hunched over. The man was sitting there, swirling a glass of bourbon on the rocks. He wasn’t in uniform, but the black compression shirt pulled nicely over the man’s shoulder and waist, outlining his well defined muscles. He was a sight for a painting under the low glow of pendant lights. Yaku, who was normally behind the bar had disappeared to god knows where, and the normal crowd that would have been there at 2 a.m. had thinned out. There were a couple people drinking quietly by the doors, another in a far corner, but otherwise it was almost calm.

Say for the officer sitting at his bar counter. 

“Well, well. Captain Sawamura, you’re not one I expected to see in my fine establishment,” the man said, walking past empty tables. “Honestly, who let such a fine officer in?”

Instead of the usual smart remark that the other would throw back, Sawamura simply raised his head, dark brown eyes even darker under the dimmed lighting. He glanced briefly at Kuroo before turning back to his drink.

“We need to talk.”

Kuroo felt dread sink in his veins and the boat floating in his chest fall with it. The two of them had a _decent_ relationship as far as yakuza bosses and police officers could. And as far as anyone else in the precinct was aware, they hadn’t killed each other, and that was a step most wouldn’t have cared to skip. They had though, cared to skip. Each time their guns clashed the shots were a _little_ off, and the puncture of their knives weren’t as deep as they could have been, considering they had plenty of opportunities to do it–to make that final blow. Kuroo wouldn’t dare admit it to anyone else, but he’d become more than fond of the other man.

There was something about the officer as they’d stumbled the ranks together, particularly after Kuroo had saved the other from being shot, even more years previously.

“Why don’t we talk in our booth?” Kuroo had asked, nodding towards the back of the bar. The few times Sawamura had come into the bar, he’d met him at this one booth in the back. The leather seats were more worn than the others, and the wood on the table was chipped, but Sawamura had never asked for them to move.

The man stood up, glass in hand, stuffing his other hand into his pocket.

That night, Sawamura discussed members of other precincts, what he’d found in some files that certainly could have got him fired if anyone else found out he’d even _looked_ at. There were stats on Nekoma’s group that were _wrong_ according to the officer, after all he’d seen, after all they’d talked about. Nekoma wasn’t a malicious group, rare to actively cause violence. They were more of the “words are more powerful” type of group, and they were quiet about the actions they took. But the words that came out of Sawamura’s mouth made them seem like scum in the eyes of Sawamura’s higher ups. There were falsified documents, faked interviews, pseudo articles–the whole nine yards. Sawamura had only glanced at what he could, but the city’s higher-ups had a deep and unsettling plan to tear down Nekoma.

Sawamura’s voice had only become more exhausted, edged and laced with something akin to betrayal, as he finished.

That same night Sawamura left with a burner phone in hand, and Kuroo’s number inhabiting it. 

_when they plottin’ on me, would you let me know?_

_would you load the magazine?_

The settling moment in their relationship, that small bit of more, that extra push over the edge, was the night when Sawamura had called him on the burner phone. Kuroo had given the phone to the other for the “just in case” moments, especially after the information Sawamura had given, but in the following weeks Sawamura hadn’t touched it, and Kuroo hadn’t received any contact except for their minimum in person chats.

Kuroo had been closing the empty bar, already having sent everyone home. Yaku and Kai had told him he shouldn’t stay too late, but two hours after the doors had been locked he still sat in the back office going over some of the finances. He’d had a meeting with Fukurodani’s boss earlier, and would be having one with the Inarizaki boss the next day. Kuroo couldn’t think of anything to distract him from the meetings and discussions of territory, members gone suddenly missing, as well as family members disappearing. He was turning through the numbers of their next shipment of soju when the phone, _the_ phone, the burner one connected to Sawamura’s, shrilled through the quiet of the bar. 

Kuroo hadn’t even attempted a hello before Sawamura was rattling off information.

“Kuroo, you need to clear your bars,” Sawamura had started. He was breathing quickly, like he was running, or like he’d gone on a jog. His voice was rushed and panicked as he continued, “Someone from another group ratted to someone else in another precinct. They called for a rush on some of the bars you own, and they’re doing it _now._ They didn’t tell our precinct, or my unit because of possible affiliations, and they happen to just give us notice–”

Kuroo blinked, overwhelmed by the onslaught of information placed before him, sliding his eyes away from his office to the front of the bar. The only lights on were above the bar, and going to turn the lights off would mean putting himself in sight of the windows stretching across the front.

“ _Fuck,_ do you know which ones?” he asked.

“The Tipsy Cat, Chartreux, and–” the other man took a deep breath, voice low, “–and the Trash Heap.”

_Fuck me,_ he glared at his favorite bar, and the dark woods panneling the walls, the low pendant lights hanging above the long bar, and the leathered booths on the edges. In the closet corner to him, was the booth where Sawamura and him had first sat down and talked, really fleshed out the issues from the police department and their qualms with the yakuza, specifically Nekoma. This was the place where the two of them had felt comfortable enough to talk; about each other and to each other about themselves and not their perceived personas and the ungodly amount of pressure their titles pressed on them. 

“Why didn’t they tell you?” Kuroo asked, walking himself backwards to his office, scanning the parts of the streets he could see from the windows. 

Sawamura scoffed, “Fuck if I know, probably because they think I’m changing the department into something decent. And we know how some of them _hate_ that.”

“Yeah, we’re living in it right now,” Kuroo’s voice was tight, throat closing as he reached into his office to turn off the light.

“Kuroo,” Sawamura breathed out, warier in tone. “Where are you right now?”

“I–I’m at the Trash Heap.”

The other end of the line was silent save for a harsh wind and an occasional car. 

“Kuroo, I don’t care what the fuck you have to do, but if you don’t get out of that place alive, and _now,_ I will personally pull your spirit back from the grave.”

“Is that a promise, darling?”

The sound on the other end was almost a growl, but came out pleading instead, “ _Kuroo–_ just. Make your way to my apartment, do you understand?”

Kuroo had been running from the police since his early teens, raised into the yakuza since he was born, and he knew exactly what that meant. Even if he had to run the chasing officers all over the place, he just needed to lose them. Sawamura’s place, or any officer’s home, is one they would least expect to find him.

“Just make your way to my apartment. Please.”

The streets were still silent beyond the windows, save for the few lights glowing in the air and casting a path into the night. After taking the time to call the other bars, make sure they were clearing out safely, Kuroo had pulled on his long black jacket, and then tugged his face mask over his mouth and nose before heading into the darkness. His nerves twitched underneath his skin but Sawamura’s apartment was only a few blocks away, all he had to do was make it there.

  
  


_I'm prepared to give you all of me_

_If you're prepared to ride when you're called upon_

  
  


“How do you think they’d feel if they knew the captain of one of this city’s finest precincts was a dirty cop working with yakuza?” Kuroo asked, pleasantly seated in Sawamura's living space.

“It’s not dirty if we’re saving people. The ones at the top are the true dirty ones.”

“Your morals never cease to amaze me.”

“And neither do yours,” Sawamura said, sending a devilishly sly smile his way. “You’re a good man Kuroo Tetsurou, no matter what the news says about Nekoma. No matter what the rest of the precinct says or what false stats they publish. Otherwise you would have killed me the first time you saw me, left me for dead.”

Kuroo tilted his head towards the man. 

Years ago when they were both far younger, Daichi was working as one of the newest police officers in the precinct that acted in Nekoma’s territory. Kuroo hadn’t yet been made the current yakuza boss, but he was out on a job–a job where a couple words started a grand argument, leading to shots flying between Nekoma, Kikata and another smaller group with Daichi in the middle, and Kuroo had found the man in a compromising spot.

The man had been sitting on the ground, leaning against a storage container, hands clenching his side. He was glaring though, through iron-willed eyes, at a Kikata member. Daichi had spat on man’s shoe, growling, looking down the muzzle of a silver gun held by said member. Kuroo had acted only on the fact that the man holding the gun was a Kikata member, and not because the officer on the ground was _handsome._

With the Kikata member taken care of, and properly knocked out, Kuroo had leaned down to the officer, pulling one of the man’s arms over his shoulder. Amongst the blaring chaos raging around them, he began leading the other man out of the warehouse they groups had found themselves in.

“You going to kill me now?” Sawamura had asked through gritted teeth.

“Not if you don’t kill me,” Kuroo answered, darting his eyes around. It didn’t seem like anyone had seen them, but he continued to heave the other man into an alleyway. There, Sawamura had looked up at Kuroo, questioningly as he leaned back on the cold concrete wall. There, Kuroo felt like a rock had lodged itself in his chest, and that there was no hope for it to be released. 

Now, together they sat under the lowlights of Sawamura’s home. Sawamura was leaning back in the leather chair, posture relaxed. His head was leaning on his propped fist, eyes twinkling like ice in double cut old fashioned glass of bourbon. The man’s eyes were shadowed like a dark rum, swirling with thoughts too far away for Kuroo to understand. The single lamp on in the room sat on the end table beside the man’s chair. Kuroo's eyes drew to the shadows curving around Sawamura's face, falling over his already dark eyes, and down his face to his very pink lips.

"Sawamura," he started. "Our motives are very similar then."

  
  


_If so, I'll treat you like royalty_

_Like a queen, baby, not a pawn_

Further down the line, after they’d quietly gotten together, after they’d moved in together, and even after they had said vows solemnly swearing to protect one another even in the afterlife–they still struggled with their jobs and what it meant to live in a world where one of them was always going to be perceived as _bad_ and the other inherently _good._ The many times Daichi had walked into the Trash Heap, and the numerous times Daichi had missed a good shot on Kuroo, could only be deflected so many times. They each had their own apartment for appearances, for paperwork and the likes. Daichi could tell that some of the higher-ups in the city were getting more than a little antsy with the fact that their plots had been foiled more than once.

And Daichi was growing tired of having to lie his unit, who he thought of as family, about something as important as who he was married to.

The beginning of that day had already started out badly. He wasn’t even supposed to be at the precinct that day. He was supposed to be at his and Kuroo’s apartment, packing because they were leaving for a few days for their anniversary.

And really, yakuza bosses and police fights could wait for a few days, couldn’t it?

He guessed not though, considering he’d come into the precinct, just in jeans and a nondescript white t-shirt. By all means, he just wasn’t dressed for the sort of day that was before him. He only had a couple files to pick up and go through, and Kiyoko had called saying it was important. 

Everything was important when it came to police departments though. Well, almost.

Hollering and yelling had tugged Daichi away from his office, and in an instant the few minutes he had swore he was going to spend there, turned into most of the afternoon. 

There appeared to have been a fight that broke out near the front desks, with two rival yakuza members, neither affiliated with Nekoma or some of the larger groups. Daichi had come out from his office to see what all the commotion was about, only to find Hinata and Kageyama trying to hold one guy back, and then Kiyoko and Tanaka holding the other one. The two men were yelling back and forth about borders being crossed, and someone stepping out of line with the other’s brother.

Daichi honestly wasn’t too sure amongst all of the chaos. Somehow, fucking _somehow,_ one of the guys had a knife on them. In the middle of detaining him, the slice had come quick to Daichi’s side, allowing dark red to become exposed to the air.

Really, it was downhill from there. 

The cut on his side hadn’t been bad enough to warrant needle stitches, but twelve butterfly stitches placed carefully on his abdomen. Before he could leave the precinct, after he’d found the files on his computer, printed them out, and prepared to pack his things, they’d gotten a call about a disruption in a neighborhood.

A neighborhood that happened to be included in Nekoma territory. Daichi had all of Nekoma’s territory memorized for over ten years now. He knew very well that when Kiyoko came into his office and she said that a bar by the name of the Tipsy Cat had a major fight that broke out, and someone had started pulling guns.

Daichi spewed a hundred levels of curses, calling out orders to his unit. While at the same time he looked at his phone, where Kuroo had texted just a few words over half an hour previously:

**TetsuBoo ㅇㅅㅇ**

12:24 PM

_don’t panic, but yaku called saying some members from N. stopped into the TC. shouldn’t be too many issues, but will be back home asap. they’re low-lvl members apparently_

Daichi sent a quick succession of messages

**die for these thighs (￢‿￢ )**

12:58 PM

_you weren’t even supposed to go in today_

13:01 PM

_please tell me you already left. we got a call. we are leaving now._

13:05 PM

_Tetsu, you leave that bar right now_

**TetsuBoo ㅇㅅㅇ**

13:08 PM

_things got a little messy. see you at home ig?_

Daichi groaned at the text, getting several looks from the members in his squad that he quickly waved off. 

That was the last he heard from his mafia-boss of a husband, and what subsequently led to their evening madness at home. After towing the three Nohebi members into their department, and then having to pass questioning members of the Nekoma group onto the analytics department.

Daichi remembered the shot going off–aimed the furthest he could without causing major harm, but close enough that those watching him wouldn’t blink an eye afterwards. Maybe his own unit had given him space and avoided previous mishaps that connected him to catching one Kuroo Tetsurou, but other units wouldn’t. Other precincts were keeping a close enough eye on him as is. Kuroo had sent the man a baffled look across the streets and Daichi threw back a pleading look, and a whispered _I’m sorry–_

“You forgot to take off your ring,” Suga said as he sat with the medic as they stitched up his side, where the slice from earlier that morning had opened. Daichi balked to his hand where the black tungsten of a ring wrapped around his ring finger. There was a gold inlay curving around the black, and two diamonds at the end of the opened inlay.

Daichi looked to Suga, Asahi and Kiyoko, all standing around him. His mouth felt parched, as if the saliva had retreated with any comfort he’d felt earlier.

“I–” he tried to start, but really, what was there to say? He’d known these people since their days in the academy, and he was likely to working with them for more years to come.

Kiyoko offered him a small smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay Daichi.”

Asahi gave a firm nod, hands on his hips. Suga shook his head, downcast in appearance, but placed another hand on the opposite of Kiyoko’s. “You can trust us Daichi. We’re your family first before anything else.”

Nothing else needed to be said.

  
  


_If you're not afraid of the darkness_

_I'ma be there 'til the end, love_

  
  


“Hey darling,” Kuroo called upon entering their home, a few hours after the incident. “Care to explain _why the fuck you shot me?_ ”

Daichi cringed, but met Kuroo at the door. While pulling the man further into the home, he said, “No ‘hey honey how was work,’ just straight to that.”

“Okay, let’s start over then,” Kuroo grumbled, holding onto the side of his left shoulder with the other hand. 

Daichi coaxed him towards the couch, face serious but he still asked, “How was your day at work?”

“You know, fine I guess, except for the fact that my husband of five years shot me.” Kuroo continued grumbling as he sat down on their black couch, pulling at his shirt but hissing as he lifted his shoulder.

Daichi reached with callused and skilled hands to help pull the shirt over Kuroo’s body. Covering his left shoulder looked to be a makeshift bandage, but nothing more than that. The crimson red was saturating the white bandages, and Daichi shook his head, eyebrows pinched in.

“Sorry,” Daichi sighed. “Let me go get the med kit.”

Daichi came back with tools ready for the familiar routine. More often than Daichi liked Kuroo had come back to their home with wounds that needed more serious medical attention, but Kuroo often begged for Daichi to be the one to tend to them. _“If you get that infected, you can’t blame it on me,”_ Daichi had once said, as he’d pulled stitches through a spot on the man’s back.

It was a few minutes of cleaning the wound, where the bullet had grazed his skin, before Daichi began stitching it.

“Ouch,” Kuroo whispered, watching Daichi’s hands take the stitch and pull it through skin like someone who’d gone to medical school. Kuroo twisted a little bit, turning his head up to look at Daichi’s face, his eyes colored like a priceless violin. 

“Be still,” Daichi murmured into their space. 

“How can I when you _shot me_ –!”

“Now look here. Did you really want me to announce to both my team and everyone else there at the bar that not only are we dating, but we’ve been married for years now? We’re damn lucky we’ve made it this far without anyone catching on. You weren’t even supposed to be out on business today.” 

Kuroo ignored him, turning his head to lull back on the couch, “I can’t believe it. My own husband, shot me.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Daichi freed his fingers to pinch Kuroo’s bare abdomen. “We’ve done way worse to each other before. And the bullet barely grazed your shoulder.”

“And now I’m going to pay for it,” Kuroo said, now with a small smile on his face. He closed his hazel eyes, slipping into a Daichi-induced haze caused by Daichi’s fingers working his skin back together

“You were literally stabbed once, then stitched up, and decided to wrestle with Bokuto afterwards, where you pulled your stitches out. I think you’ll live.”

Kuroo shook his head, but began watching Daichi’s face, even as he pulled the final stitch into place. “You really should have gotten Yaku to stitch that up after.”

“Well, yeah. He said so too, but I had to see you.”

Daichi’s gaze softened, bourbon gaze churning into chocolate in only a second, “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you. And I thought _you_ were supposed to be home too?”

Daichi groaned, but began wrapping the bandage around Kuroo’s chest and then back over the grazed shoulder. With a quiet _lean forward_ from Daichi he began wrapping the bandage around Kuroo’s chest, and then back over the grazed shoulder.

“Kuroo, they know.”

Gold eyes peered towards Daichi with alarming concern, “Who?”

“Suga, Kiyoko and Asahi. They must have known for a while now, known something. But I forgot to take off the ring this morning before I left. Then the incident, and my stitches were pulled–”

Kuroo leaned forward pressing a gentle kiss on the other man’s cheek, between his cheekbone and the curve of his plush lips. “We’ve known since the beginning that someone was going to find out. We should be glad that it was them and no one from the high city council.”

Daichi nodded, leaning towards the warm lips on his face. He sighed, before leaning away, “Besides, I think more than a couple people have their suspicions in your circle.”

Kuroo’s low laugh sent warmth into Daichi’s body, crawling into the tight muscles where tension from the day resided.

“Kenma probably, and definitely Yaku and Kai,” he said, reaching with the hand of his uninjured to scratch at the back of his head. “No one had had questions so far.”

Outside their apartment, the evening’s darkness was calling the moon into the sky, and the nightlife began to flutter in sound. Daichi listened to the passing cars, the beginning of their upstairs neighbor’s radio, before a thought came to fruition in his mind.

“Tetsu,” he began quietly, finishing the last bits of the wrap on his husband’s body. The other gave an answering hum, still gazing up to Daichi. “After we come back from our leave, I think we can tell them. Just them. We should have told them a long time ago, when all of this, us, started.”

Kuroo softly smiled, blinked sleepily, a little dazed, to him. “Let’s do it.”

The man narrowed his gold eyes though after a couple moments of quiet. “You said your stitches? What stitches.”

“Oh,” Daichi sat back, pulling his shirt up to reveal the stitches up his abdomen and side. “There was a fight that broke out this morning. One had a knife, surprise there. I didn’t have my vest on because I thought I was only going to be there for half an hour but then we got the call. And the call lead to the fresh stitches being pulled.”

The wound on Daichi’s side perfectly sliced the scar from the first time they met. The butterfly stitches crossed up his abdomen to the spot between his false and true ribs. Right in the middle was the years old pale scar of a near-fatal bullet. 

“Who did it? Which one of them?” Kuroo asked, eyes narrowed on the spot. He brushed his fingers over the stiches, towards the scar and all it meant for them. Kuroo would say confidently that their entire relationship had started right there, with the bullet that had caused that scar. “I can send someone after them.”

“We already have him in custody,” Daichi said, looking fondly at the man. “No need to call your guys. Now come on, let’s finish packing so we can go to bed.”

  
  


_I won't ever let 'em take what we have_

_I could make 'em disappear, if you need that_

  
  


It was already nearing midnight when they’d blissfully turned into bed. All of their belongings had been packed, tickets for the train checked, they’d even sent messages to their respective friends asking to meet together after the couple weeks they were going to be gone. 

Kuroo had laid himself on his back as to not aggravate the shoulder wound, and Daichi had placed himself laying on Kuroo’s arm but on the opposite side. The the navy curtains in their room had been drawn over large windows, while a sliver of light peeked through from the moon. 

They are both suddenly jolted when Daichi’s phone rang from beside the bed—

“There’s _what_ on fire,” Daichi blinked himself into awareness, looking through the darkness to Kuroo’s golden gaze.

Kuroo stared back at his husband, eyes sleepy but concerned. Daichi pulled himself out of bed, throwing their warm covers off. He began to rummage around the room for more than just a pair of boxers. 

Daichi’s quick talk was met with Kuroo’s own phone going off nearby.

“You set _what_ on fire?” Kuroo snapped, alertness flaring over his sleep-riddled mind. Daichi met Kuroo’s eyes again as he turned on the bedside table lamp. 

_Well. So much for vacation,_ they both thought wearily.

  
  


_All I ask of you is to be there when the time comes_

_(When the time comes)_

_Even if it kills you, baby_

_Do not hide or run_

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaahhh i'm sorry this piece was kind of all over the place and probably need more past scenes and stuff, but maybe i'll write some and make this a sort of series. i'm not sure though since i already have a kurodai mafia/yakuza thing planned that's going to be quite the feat to do. and i'm not as pleased with this piece as a couple others just because of the pacing, but i really hope you all enjoyed.
> 
> here is the link to the post that inspired this:
> 
> http://jordsie.tumblr.com/post/174086043802/puckyou-forpuckssake-sirhate-lily-peet
> 
> i'm pretty active on tumblr:
> 
> @spookysp-ace
> 
> and kinda existing on twitter:
> 
> @spacedaichi
> 
> <3


End file.
